


but in bright lights

by preromantics



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The point is, really, that Kris is not avoiding being in the room at the same time as Adam when they are not asleep. It's just coincidence.</i> Set during the show, mild cross-dressing kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but in bright lights

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ 5/02/09. For L.

Allison is trying to play pool with Danny and, well, it would be interesting if either of them knew how to play. It probably could be funny, too, if it weren't so awkward and Kris weren't trying to actually concentrate for the show the next night. Allison shrieks something, low, and laughs and Kris sucks in a breath that settles in the bridge of his nose before sucking it up and gathering his stuff to go back to his room.

It's not like he's been trying to avoid being in the room at the same time as Adam, no, why would he, there is no reason. It's just -- they have so many extra rooms now and every time one of the rooms opens up there is a new spot to which one of them could move to. They wouldn't have to share their cramped space, or a closet where Kris has found more than a few pieces of glitter mysteriously clinging to his own clothes; all of that could be avoided so simply now and yet.

Neither of them have moved.

Kris isn't making it a big deal in his head at all, not really. Adam is a good roommate, he's neat and at night he puts headphones on and hums along, usually something soft and low that Kris can never place, would never expect Adam to listen to, really. He doesn't snore and sometimes when Kris wakes up before him Adam has turned in the night, twisting so his blankets have fallen low along his hips, his back fully exposed and Kris uses the morning light to trace the curve of it -- strangely feminine even though Adam is taller and broader than Kris himself.

The point is, really, that Kris is not avoiding being in the room at the same time as Adam when they are not asleep. It's just coincidence.

Allison and Danny's voices follow him up the stairs and even down the hall. Matt is tinkering on the baby grand, too, and it's a lot more calming than the faux-shouting match but it sets Kris a little on edge as he nears the room. He hasn't seen Adam, but he's probably still in one of the studio-booths, practicing within all of their sound-proof glory.

Hopefully. Not that Kris would have any problem if he weren't.

And, damn it, maybe Kris possibly is avoiding Adam but it's no fault of his own. Adam is great. When he gives hugs he presses close, curls his fingers. When he smiles -- really smiles, not just for the cameras -- it lights up his eyes, and just his lips go up. It's just that they both realize the fact they are still sharing a room, even though it's past the point where they have to or even should be and Adam has this, this just different look in his eyes when he looks at Kris.

Kris grew up - not sheltered, exactly, but. He grew up enough to know that Adam is not what he's used to at all. He's tall and vaguely frightening in this animalistic way when he wants to be and at other times feels almost as small as Kris, curled up at the foot of the bed with headphones on and Kris watching him over a book or sheet of music and Kris will look down for a second and catch his eyes when he looks back up. He'll smile, a little while Kris tries to look busy, caught, and something low will curl in Kris' stomach, something new, something --

The door is cracked, a little, when Kris gets to it. He pushes it open slowly, glancing over the end of the chapter he was trying to finish downstairs before he looks up, and.

Adam is in the room, Kris registers than much. He's changing, which is also something that makes it to Kris' brain, followed closely by the feeling he should be shutting the door and leaving as quick as possible except that he isn't.

Adam's skin back is something Kris is familiar with, but nothing below where the lower part beings to swell is imprinted in to his mind -- yet. His throat feels dry, sudden, when he looks down, watching. Pressed into the skin right above Adam's hipbone is a strip of black lace, almost cutting into the skin so that when he shifts just slightly Kris can see the pattern imprinted into his soft skin. When he turns, bending to slip into a pair of dark wash jeans, spine jutting out, the dark line of the, the -- just curling around Adam's hips, dipping in between his ass cheeks, this startling contrast.

Kris isn't breathing, isn't seeing. He backs up, sound rushing through his ears, not seeing the flash of eyes in the mirror in front of him, not seeing anything as he makes his way down the stairs, anything but just that few seconds of Adam, slipping into jeans, slipping into jeans with underwear -- woman's underwear, pressing against his skin, the inside of his thighs, right where -

"Hey," Matt says, when Kris finds himself in the foyer, hands sweaty on his book, "can you listen to this arrangement for a sec, man?"

  
-

After, he tries to shut it out. Everything is so confusing, because he's feeling less confident in everything but music right now. It's good, easy even to do it on a show night. He's on edge in the kitchen, buttering toast while people flit in and out prepping everyone for press, and Adam comes up behind him (he doesn't even need to see to really know, and fuck) to get to the fridge, pressing a hand against Kris' lower back to maneuver around him.

Kris feels Adam's hand there for hours.

Other than that, it's easier to not think. Press, rehearsal, choreography, press. Press, carpet, photoshoot (other end of the group from Adam, not thinking, really not thinking,) and then finally the show.

Despite his confusion and increasing lack of confidence in everything from himself to his beliefs as of late, Kris feels both his songs pouring out through his entire body, radiating through his pores and out to the stadium. If anything, despite everything, Kris has found a new belief through American Idol - the religion of music, of being. Now all he needs to do is let himself be more.

-

He is successfully not-thinking, even at the post-show wrap where everyone is talking about performances and Adam takes the time to single him out, capturing the entire rooms attention with just one clear word. He's practically glowing, and Kris is trying to avoid looking straight at him, flushing as he declares both of Kris' performances the best of the night, talking about his musicality and his presence.

Until then, he is not thinking about it. The attention to Adam dies down after his announcement, and Kris is over the wrap-party sooner than he usually is, almost itching to work on next week even though he isn't safe yet, won't know if he will be until tomorrow. He sinks into the green room couch and watches Adam from across the room, watches his back and the little shifts in his posture as he talks animatedly to one of the 'celebrity' guests of the show from the night. He tries not to, really, but finds himself wondering about what Adam is wearing - is the underwear a recreational thing? Does he do it on show nights, too? Knowing that all of America is watching him and underneath his too-tight pants is just skimpy string, stuff that Kris never really felt was sexy before (sure, it looked nice, just.) Did it get him excited?

Does it match his bright pants tonight? Can he see, can he touch, can he --

He goes to get another drink, and lets the thinning of the the crowd tell him when to grab one of the show's special cabs with Allison and Matt to go back to the mansion.

-

  
When he gets out of the shower, Adam is in the room. He's in some long flannel pants with tiny pink crowns on them that Kris finds amusing (although not as amusing as the tiny shorts Adam has that say Head Bitch on the ass, that he wore once around the house with a little shirt knotted up just to show everyone what he was, how he could be, probably not aiming for how tense his display had made Kris all night.) He also has a loose-fitting white v-neck on, it looks soft and curls around his collarbone.

"Where'd you sleep last night?" Adam asks, not looking up over the top of the sheets he's reading. Kris startles in the doorway, still standing there and staring, a towel around his shoulders starting to soak through his sleeping shirt.

"Room across the hall," he says, shuffling, awkward.

Adam looks up, furrowing his brows, "Why? Are you moving --"

"No, no," Kris says quickly, cutting him off, too quick, even. "You were, um, sleeping and I didn't want to bother you. So."

"Oh," Adam says, "you don't have to do that, I sleep like a rock, like a log."

"Like the dead," Kris finishes, "yeah, I've noticed." He smiles a little, and turns over to his bed to pull the sheets down. "Good show tonight, by the way," he says, an afterthought.

"You too," Adam says, and Kris turns to watch him get off the bed, shift, and his flannel shifts too. He doesn't try, doesn't actively look, but Kris swears he sees the outline of lace, of something there, can't stop trying to see, tunnel vision.

Adam catches him too late. He catches Kris' eyes and Kris can't look away, tries to and can't. Adam breathes out and in. "Yes," he says, quiet.

Kris is afraid to ask but he finds he wants to. He almost, at the very edge of his consciousness, knows.

"I'm wearing them, some, yes," Adam says, plain, automatic. "I know you saw."

"Fuck," Kris says, charged and quiet.

They meet in the middle, crashing, pressing. Adam is bending down, his hand on Kris' shoulder, maneuvering him back against the door, lips and tongue.

"Say no," Adam says, higher than usual and almost desperate. "Say no, Kris." He's panting a little, still pressing, still so overwhelmingly there.

Kris meets him crashing up and feeling backwards, tugging at his shirt. "I watch, in the mornings," he drags out, arching where Adam is bent, lips scraping along the inside of Kris' neck. "Your skin, and."

"I know, I know," Adam repeats, a mantra into his skin. "I know."

Kris wants to feel, to see, he drags his hands down and feels out of place, lost, but he wants. His mind is lost, fuzzy, pressing against the thigh between his own legs, swallowing the low, crooning noises Adam is making as they rock. Everything builds too fast, different, and Adam is kneeling down, taking Kris in, hotwarmsoft to the back of his throat.

He shuts his eyes, tight, one hand in Adam's hair, feeling him pull and push, and the other spread out against the wall, clenching at nothing. He wants to say something, say something that will make everything not as much not as intense but instead all that comes out is "Adam," too low to be his normal voice.

He's close, too, probably been ready since the morning, probably since last night (jerking off in the shower, not-thinking about anything at all and catching the black line of tiles against their white counterparts and thinking Adam, lace, black, in quick succession and coming so hard his knees actually buckled, gasps drowned out by the spray of water.)

"Don't," he says, pulling up Adam, who automatically steps back, eyes flashing before Kris pulls him back, crashing their lips together until Adam moans out, too-loud. Kris' gets his senses a little, orienting, and pulls at Adam's flannel, slips his hands under and behind to feel the soft, round skin of his ass and then there -- there the rough feel of lace, starting at the top then dipping down. He squeezes, kneading almost and Adam is keening a little, pushing against him rocking and Kris is not in high school damnit, but this is so new that he comes just from the new friction, biting down on Adam's collarbone, both hands squeezing hard, too hard, while he focuses to not let too much out.

Adam rocks arching back with a gasp as Kris' hands slip, feeling too small against the expanse of skin he is clutching too, and Kris can feel it when Adam comes, snapping forward too hard where Kris is too sensitive.

They stay like that, against the wall for a long time, breathing. Adam starts to say something, opening his mouth, eyes wide and Kris cuts him off. "Don't," he whispers, running a hand through the back of Adam's hair, where it's just wet at the edges.

Adam breathes, "Okay," he says, and leans forward first, tumbling them over and to the bed, pressing and dragging his lips softly.


End file.
